


A Home in the North

by mayhem (zidle)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Feel-good, Gen, Happy Ending, Post S8E3, Post battle of Winterfell, Pre S8E4, Speculation, all my favorite characters getting good things, how the last war should end, no one else that we like dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zidle/pseuds/mayhem
Summary: Following the Battle of Winterfell, the North becomes home to many who bled to protect it.





	A Home in the North

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Game of Thrones fic (that I've actually finished and posted) and is really just a shameless happy ending for the characters because I know D&D won't give it to us.
> 
>  
> 
> Pre SanSan/background Gendrya
> 
>  
> 
> unbetaed, any mistakes are my own

The hole in the wall of Winterfell was going to be the biggest problem. The broken stones had been cleared out with any salvageable pieces separated from the refuse. It had been thousands of years since Bran the Builder crafted the keep, and unless Sansa could find another stonemason of similar skill, Winterfell would remain a shadow of its former self. It already hadn’t felt completely like home with the renovations the Boltons had headed.

As Lady of Winterfell and Wardenness of the North, the repair of the keep fell to Sansa alone, as well as all the other post-war needs of her people and lands. Even though it had been weeks since the last funeral pyre had smoked out, Sansa could swear she still smelled the burning remains of thousands of Unsullied, Dothraki, wildlings and wights.

Before the Dragon Queen flew south with Jon and what was left of her foreign army, the two women worked together to make sure the dead were sorted and given the proper funeral rights according to their culture. It took near a fortnight before the first mass-ceremony was held, but it was the least they could do. The Westerosi dead were claimed by any remaining kinsmen from their home, to be taken back and laid to rest as soon as they could be.

Sansa had sent a raven to Yara Greyjoy offering Theon an honored place in the Winterfell crypts, once the bodies could be re-entombed to the best of their ability. But Yara replied that her brother would be honored with the rites of the Drowned God and she would retrieve the remains after she assisted the Dragon Queen with her war for the Iron Throne. The remaining Knights of the Vale who had elected to stay and help clean up Winterfell rather than march south with Daenerys had left just over a sennight ago when a raven arrived announcing that a Targaryen once again sat on the throne and the Last War was over.

A second letter from Jon told Sansa to expect Yara and Arya coming by way of White Harbour in less than a fortnight, along with some others who had decided to return north. They were bringing as much supplies and food and gold as the Crown could spare at this time, as per the agreement Sansa had reached with the Queen. Fealty from the North in return for full support during rebuilding and through the rest of winter from the South.

The gold and supplies were all Sansa was waiting for to begin the Keep’s repair and reconstruction. And so, when she glimpsed the first sight of the party arriving from White Harbour, she told herself that’s what she was looking forward to, not who might be travelling with her sister.

***

Sansa stood in the Winterfell courtyard to greet the party led by Yara and Arya, who seemed to be smirking at each other about something as they rode in. As well as the various visiting Ironborn and returning Northmen, into Winterfell filed Brienne, Podrick, Jaime, Tormund, Gendry and Sandor.

She greeted her sister with a hug and nodded to the rest of them as they dismounted their horses and gave slight bows.

“Come, we have prepared the undamaged rooms available. You may wash and rest if you’d like, and dinner will be served shortly.”

The Ironborn and the Northmen would have to share rooms, but anything was better than sleeping in the snow. Sansa followed Arya to her chambers, silent for most of the way until she found her words.

“What happened in Kings Landing?”

“We won.”

Arya kept going until they were behind her closed door before really answering. “I used one of my faces to sneak into the Red Keep and sabotage the ballista. The 5,000 men we had lured the Golden Company and Lannister army into the field, but when Jon and the Dragon Queen flew overhead on the dragons and the bolts wouldn’t fire, they scattered. Those who stood their ground were burned and those who fled were given a chance to bend the knee once the battle was over. They all did.”

“And Cersei?”

“Executed,” Arya stripped off her clothes and sank into the steaming bath Sansa had prepared for her. “After the army fell apart, it wasn’t hard for a group of us to make it into the Keep. She was in the Throne Room, sat on the Iron Throne drinking wine, looking like she thought she had won.”

Sansa sat in a chair near the tub.

“She had maybe 20 guards with her, plus the Mountain and Euron Greyjoy. They put up a good fight, but once Yara killed Euron and most of the Redcloaks were down, Clegane, Tormund and Gendry were able to overpower the Mountain. And Jaime and Brienne secured Cersei and had her brought to the black cells.”

Sansa felt almost like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. A part of her wanted to know what Cersei’s last words were, whether she screamed or went quietly, whether she accepted her fate or planned her next move until her last breath. Everything bad that had happened to Sansa was because of Cersei in some way. Sansa could hardly believe it was over.

“It seems almost too easy,” Sansa muttered.

Arya chuckled as she grabbed a bar of soap and a rag, “After the army of the dead, everything is going to seem easy.”

Sansa nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

Silence fell over the sisters for some minutes before Arya spoke again, “Jon’s staying in the South with the Queen.”

Sansa could only nod again because that’s exactly what she thought would happen.

“They’ll probably announce a wedding within a moon,” Arya went on.

“At least he’s happy,” Sansa’s voice was small, but she believed her own words. She wanted Jon to be happy, but her family was so small now, she wished they could all stay together. But that wasn’t realistic. “The Northmen would never trust him to lead them again after bending the knee without consulting them, no matter what the Queen did for us in return.”

“But this is his home!”

“And it always will be, but it’s not where he belongs anymore.”

Arya climbed out of the tub and Sansa handed her a linen to dry with.

“Do you need help readying for dinner?”

Arya shook her head.

“Then I will see you in the Great Hall when you are ready,” Sansa paused at the door. “I’m glad you’re back, Arya.”

“Me too.”

***

There were already some people at the tables in the hall, waiting for the food to be brought out and busying themselves with the available wine and ale. Sansa spotted a freshly washed Yara Greyjoy at one of those tables with some of her men. As Sansa approached, Yara and the men laughed bodily at something said by one of them.

“Lady Greyjoy,” Sansa greeted when they had quieted some.

Yara turned to her, “Lady Sansa, how may I help you?”

The men laughed again as if she had told a particularly funny joke, but Sansa figured they had just taken advantage of the available drink.

“May I have a word? I’d like to show you something.”

Yara looked at her men, and they laughed once more, but she stood from the table anyway.

“Of course, my lady, lead the way.”

Sansa led Yara out of the hall and out of the keep itself, crossing the courtyard to the entrance of the crypts. She paused outside the doorway to gather her strength. She hadn’t been back in the crypts since the night of the battle. It was completely safe. She knew this; there had been men working to fix them for weeks. There was no danger. Sansa grabbed a lit torch and walked in.

She kept going past the old Kings and Queens of Winter until she reached the newer tombs and her father’s statue. She paused in front of it for only a moment before moving to the next tomb. It didn’t have a statue yet.

“My brother Rickon lies here,” Sansa told Yara without looking at her. “He was 11 when he was killed by Ramsay Bolton. He does not have a statue because we were at war and supplies and time were scarce. But now that we are entering a time of hopefully lasting peace, I have commissioned three statues to be installed.”

“Three, my lady?” Yara asked in the echoing quiet.

“Yes. My brother Robb, he has neither a tomb nor a statue for his body was never recovered after the Red Wedding, along with my mother’s. But he will have a place in these crypts of our ancestors for us to honor and remember him.”

Sansa moved to indicate the empty space next to Rickon’s tomb where a stone Robb would soon stand. Yara moved beside her, in front of the third space.

“And will the third be for your lady mother?”

Sansa shook her head, “My mother lived in the North for half her life and had five Northern children, but she wasn’t of the North. No matter how hard she tried, the North wasn’t her true home. She wouldn’t find peace in this place.”

Sansa turned to Yara on her right side.

“The third statue will honor a brother of mine who didn’t share my blood, but was family all the same. Even if Theon’s bones won’t rest in Winterfell, part of him will because he deserves the place of honor next to the first King in the North in hundreds of years.”

Yara didn’t look at Sansa, but stared as hard as she could at the blank space that would hold her brother’s likeness, like she could already picture it.

“He would like that. Thank you, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa thought she could hear tears in Yara’s voice, but she would never mention it.

“What is dead may never die, Lady Greyjoy.”

Yara nodded, “What is dead may never die.”

***

Sansa held court the next morning with the Northern lords, including Lord Glover who survived on the merit that Deepwood Motte was too far west of Winterfell to have encountered the dead and had arrived to help the rebuilding efforts. She had requested the presence of the allies who returned north with Arya as well.

“Thank you for joining me, my lords and ladies. We have many things to address today, so I beg your patience.”

She had the attention of the room, so she continued.

“Now that supplies have arrived, our first priority is rebuilding the keep and getting the hot springs running through the walls again, so no one freezes in their beds this winter. Unless we can find a skilled-enough stonemason, we will have to rely on any records of the build that can be found and any knowledge Bran can share. Any continued help with returning Winterfell to its former glory would be much appreciated, but I also understand you all have been away from home for many moons. There will be no blame laid if you decide to return to your own keeps. You will be given your promised portion of the supplies, food and gold from the South and wished well. When you do decide to leave, let the maester and myself know and we will make sure you have everything you need to restore and run your keeps and lands this winter. Any questions?”

No one spoke up.

“Now, the next matter. Ser Jaime, Ser Brienne, if you could please step forward.”

The two blonde knights approached from the opposite sides of the hall, Brienne from her post behind Sansa and Jaime from a hidden position near the door. They both gave her bows.

“I cannot express enough gratitude to you both for what you have done to serve the North. Neither of you are of the North, and you are not Stark bannermen, but you defended it as if it were your home. I would offer knighthoods, but seeing as you are both already knighted, I thought of different rewards.

“Ser Brienne, I would name you captain of the Winterfell guard and army, what is left of it. What say you, ser?”

Brienne took a knee in front of the Lady’s table, “I accept, my lady.”

“Rise, ser.”

Brienne stood and looked to have tears in her eyes. Sansa couldn’t help her smile as she moved on.

“Ser Jaime,” she looked at the golden knight, “I never thought a day would come when I was inclined to express my thanks to you for helping my house. It is true that my family and I have faced great pain and loss at the hands of yours. But,” she paused for a moment, “that is in the past, and we must move forward if we are to have real peace.

“I do not imagine you are welcome in the South with our current Queen, so I offer you a home in the North. I have several empty keeps that need lords, and I would offer you the Dreadfort.”

The silence in the room was deafening as the Northern lords and Jaime processed what she had offered.

Jaime found his voice before any of the lords could protest, “My lady, you offer too much. I could not possibly accept.”

“It is no more than you deserve, ser,” she assured. “For I heard a most moving story from Bran about a young Kingsguard and the truth behind the awful moniker that followed him for most of his life.”

Jaime looked pale at her words.

“Ser Jaime, I will not share the story with others because it is not mine to tell, but if you do choose to share it someday, I can assure you that the lords and ladies in this room will know it to be true. So, ser, will you accept this meager offering I have to give when you are deserving of much more?”

He lowered his head before sinking to a knee like Brienne had, “I will.”

“Rise, my lord. I would ask one more service of you and Ser Brienne.”

“Anything, my lady,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Gendry, Podrick, please step forward.”

Podrick came from behind Sansa near where Brienne had been stationed and Gendry stepped from the crowd lining the walls, both also bowed respectfully before her.

“For bravery in battle, in the face of near certain death, I offer knighthoods to Podrick of House Payne and Gendry Waters. Men, please take a knee,” Podrick sunk to one knee immediately while Gendry took a moment to process the request and slowly fell to his knee, a look of disbelief on his face. “Ser Jaime, Ser Brienne, if you would bestow the vows upon these men.”

Brienne stepped in front of Podrick and drew her sword and Jaime did the same for Gendry. They rested the flats of their swords on their shoulders and began the words in unison.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise,

“Ser Podrick,”

“Ser Gendry,”

“A knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

The new knights rose to applause from the onlookers and both looked overwhelmed by their newfound status.

“Ser Podrick,” Sansa smiled, “I would offer you a place in my household guard.”

He bowed again, “I accept, my lady.”

“Ser Gendry,” he met her eye after looking away from Arya stood to Sansa’s right, and Sansa hid a smirk, “I have been made aware of your parentage, and if you would wish to resurrect your father’s house and claim his name, I will sponsor a legitimization with the Queen for you.”

“If I don’t want his name, my lady?” he asked.

“Then as Wardenness of the North and Lady of Winterfell, it is in my power to grant you a house and sigil of your own.”

Gendry cut his eyes to Arya again, his face almost begging for an answer of what to do.

“You need not choose now, ser,” Sansa assured him. “Please take your time and let me know when you decide.”

Gendry bowed his head, “Thank you, my lady.”

“You all may return to the gallery,” Sansa dismissed the four knights. “Lady Arya, if you could take their place, please.”

Sansa knew her sister would be annoyed at the use of her title, but Arya walked from her side to the front of the table anyway.

“Every man, woman and child in Westeros owes you a life debt, my lady,” there were murmurs of agreement throughout the room. “There is no honor or reward grand enough for what you have done in service to the living, but I hoped Bear Island would be a sufficient start.”

Arya didn’t speak or react to the offer, but she didn’t look overjoyed. Sansa knew her sister never wanted to be a lady when she was a child, but Sansa hoped she would still accept.

“Lady Lyanna and Ser Jorah fell in the battle,” Sansa continued. “With them, House Mormont is no more. From what I knew of Lady Lyanna, she would want no other than you to take on the Ladyship of her home,” Sansa allowed a small smirk and a raise of her brow, “an island known for its history of warrior women.”

A small smile grew on her sister’s face to mirror her own.

“In addition, I will make you two promises. As Lady of Winterfell and head of House Stark, I give my word that I will never make a betrothal on your behalf. If you decide to marry, it will be to a man of your choosing at a time of your choosing, and as your Liege Lady, I will give my blessing, regardless of who you choose.”

Some of the lords in the room who had hoped to make a match between Arya and one of their sons looked disappointed, but could not argue with their Liege Lady.

“And the second?” Arya asked.

“You may prohibit anyone on Bear Island from calling you ‘my lady,’ if you so wish,” Sansa said and her sister’s smile grew.

“I thank you for this most generous offer, my lady, and I accept.”

The applause and cheers again took over the room and Arya rejoined her at the table.

“I just have one more matter until we can break for lunch, my lords and ladies,” she smiled at the room as a whole. “Tormund Giantsbane.”

The wildling man stepped into the open space.

“The Free Folk faced the army of the dead long before any of us south of the Wall knew there was a real threat, and it caused the near devastation of your people. The Battle of Castle Black, the Massacre at Hardhome, the Battle of the Bastards, and the Battle of Winterfell. Many Free Folk perished at each of these, and the survivors stand here at Winterfell, numbering less than a thousand.”

Sansa paused, but Tormund didn’t have any correction to make.

“I understand if the Free Folk would prefer to return to the freedom beyond the Wall, but if you and any others decide to stay south, I would offer you, Tormund Giantsbane, Last Hearth and all the rights, honors and privileges that come with being a lord in the North. You would be free to govern and lead your people as you see fit, with the least amount of influence from Winterfell as possible. All I ask is for the same pledge of banners that the lords of Last Hearth have made to my House for generations.”

“I don’t know nothing about being the lord of a castle,” Tormund pointed out.

“No, I would assume not,” Sansa smiled at the man. “But you are surrounded by great Northern lords who can impart valuable wisdom and advice. And I will send for a maester from Old Town to accompany you to Last Hearth and educate any willing Free Folk on matters of south of the Wall, and will personally find a steward to handle the running of the keep until you are ready to take over the duties What say you, Tormund, will you become a lord of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“I can’t promise all the Free Folk will stay south, but aye, I’ll take your castle.”

***

Sansa was wandering the courtyard, observing the smallfolk sorting the recovered weapons from the battle. Any salvageable weapons were separated from ones that needed to be melted down and reworked by a blacksmith. Dragonglass arrowheads and daggers were placed in a different pile.

The pile of black glass was towering above the heads of the smallfolk. Once it was all collected, it would be melted down and some would be used to craft a statue of Lyanna Mormont, the Giantslayer, for Arya to take to Bear Island in honor of its fallen lady. The rest would be forged into medallions to be given to everyone who fought in and survived the Battle of Winterfell. The tokens would serve to identify a protector of the North and a savior of man. It was small, but she would do all she could to help and support any who held a medallion if they were to come calling on her in the future.

“So, no knighthoods or lordships for me, little bird?”

Sansa smiled as the voice approached her from behind, despite its slightly mocking tone. Or maybe because of it. Sandor stopped at her right side, and when she looked up at him, she couldn’t see his scars.

“Would you have accepted either if I had offered them?”

He didn’t answer or look down at her.

“No, I think not. You never did care for knights and, had you wanted a lordship, lands and a keep, you could have stayed in the South. With your brother dead, Clegane Keep is up to you to claim, but here you are.”

“Aye, here I am.”

“What did you have in mind for your future in the North, Sandor?”

He met Sansa’s eye at her use of his name, never having heard her say it before.

“Didn’t really have a plan.”

Sansa hadn’t thought he would have one, he never planned anything in advance in the past.

“Well, if you’re not too tired of fighting yet, Winterfell needs a new Master at Arms.”

He was quiet as she continued to smile up at him, eyes searching her face for any deceptions.

“And you’d be okay with seeing my ugly mug around here every day?”

“Yes, I believe I would be.”

The unscarred side of his mouth twitched, “I better get used to freezing my balls off every day then.”

Sansa laughed loudly and the sound echoed off the walls around them.

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this is a complete one-shot, but I have a couple other ideas for this verse that didn't make it in this one so I might add other parts in the future (as long as the upcoming episodes don't devastate me too much)
> 
>  
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> Also, sort of unrelated, but I started a fanfiction blog that is launching June 1, so check that out and follow the account on twitter!! It's FANFICED.com and @FANFICED on twitter!!!!


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